Traitor
by BoxingTheStars
Summary: Thalia is plagued by dreams after the battle with Kronos's army and worries for her place in the Hunters. Implied Thalia/Luke. Light T rating for themes of death and mild language.


She woke up to the sound of rain and wind pounding on the outside of the tent. Although the Hunter's tents were undeniably better enforced than those the mortals used, there was a damp chill in the air. Most of the girls around her were huddled as deep as they could go into their sleeping bags, curled up in tight balls for warmth. But Thalia did not notice the draft coming through the seams or the raging storm that was causing it. Her body was a spectrum of different temperatures; alternately hot and cold, but for reasons entirely separate from the storm.

Her feet were the coldest, all the way down at the end of the bag. Her hands were only clammy, damp not with rain water but with cold sweat. In her stomach there was no heat, only a guilty weight that made her feel sick. Worse still was her face, so hot it felt like fire, tinged with pink that grew even darker near her cheekbones. Her hair stuck out this way and that, the product of a restless sleep. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, seeming to speak to her with each beat: _Guilt, guilt, guilt. _

It had happened again, had _been _happening nearly every night since the battle with Kronos's army, and she resented it. Silently, she cursed every god she could think of that had anything to do with dreams – Morpheus, Apollo – but she didn't dare pray to any of them lest word get back to Lady Artemis about what was going on in her lieutenant's head.

Thalia had no idea what the goddess would do if she found out about the recurring dreams (or rather, who was in them), but she knew it couldn't end well for anyone. Even if she managed to make it out of _that _situation unscathed, she didn't want to leave the Hunters for good. As much as they had irritated her in the pas, they had become something like her sisters over the months she had been with them, and the very thought of being kicked out (if, in fact, that was all that would happen to her) made her feel even more sick.

Did the oath apply to dreams as well? Could she be expected to turn her back on the compant of men if the man in question only existed in her unconscious mind? Would Artemis perhaps take pity on her if she failed to keep this one secret? She could, after all, sympathize over the loss of a companion, could she not? Thalia did not want to take advantage of her mistress's pity, but surely there was some sort of special circumstance?

But she simply couldn't bring herself to believe that. Being visited, even in dreams, by a male (and a traitor, no less) was almost certainly inexcusable.

The worst part was that a part of her, a deep part of her that could not bring herself to hate him no matter what he had done, had begun to look forward to these nightly visits. It wasn't just anyone she would have given her life for. For so long Luke, Annabeth, and Grover had been the only true family she had ever known; even if they were technically her second. To die for them and come back some eight years later only to discover that everything had changed had affected her more than she would ever let on. Finding out that your best friend had gone over to the dark side was enough to make anybody's head spin. Or at least, that was her rationale.

And then there was the way it had all ended – one final life taken, a war ended, with a single celestial bronze knife. Annabeth's knife, given to her however many years ago, by the very boy who had used it on himself. It was like coming full circle in some sick, tragic way.

_The hero's soul, cursed blade shall reap... _

She shuddered and turned over in her sleeping bag, afraid to go back to sleep in case the dream continued. Quite apart from not wanting to lose her place with the Hunters, these things hurt to think about, to reflect on. And Thalia Grace did not do well with such weakness.

It was never exactly the same dream. Different settings, scenarios, and memories would flash through her mind on any given night, but the principal was still the same. He was always _there, _standing out in stark contrast to the scenery, looking at her, beckoning to her, sometimes even apologizing. Sometimes she would punch him playfully, sometimes in earnest. Sometimes they would bicker. Sometimes there was no need for words at all.

Always, she would wake up like this, to find that none of it had been real. Always, she was disgusted with herself. Always, she lay there, staring up at the tent roof, wondering why this had to happen to _her, now _when she was finally beginning to get settled again.

And still her heart beat, speaking to her: _Guilt, guilt, guilt..._

She rolled her face into the pillow, biting into the fabric to stifle a groan of frustration. She hated these things – these emotional, worthless things. Even more, she hated it that this felt like a betrayal almost as great as Luke's had been. This was where she belonged now, so why was she dwelling on aspects of the past that should have been cut off to her? On people that would never come back?

_Traitor, traitor, traitor... _

Was that what she was? A traitor? For this, something she had no control over?

She had to stop this. To leave it behind, as she had done with her first family. This was where she belonged now. These were her sisters – and this family would be her last.

Slowly, carefully, she sat up and looked around the tent which she shared with two others, trying to take in the atmosphere, to absorb this as her new purpose. It had been easy to hate him when he was alive – he was a traitor, after all, and when Kronos took over there was no more Luke to hate or to love. Now that she knew, or thought she knew, that he was truly sorry, it was infinitely more difficult.

Outside, one of the wolves paused for a moment before continuing to circle the camp ground. She held her breath for several seconds before glancing around at the Hunters once more. Then she sighed, envying how peacefully they slept, and slumped back down on her pillows.

With one last desperate plea to no one in particular, she closed her eyes and fell back into an uneasy, but mercifully dreamless, sleep.


End file.
